Gabriel
by lookluster
Summary: Sam and Gabe's cushy hunting-free life in Palo Alto are interrupted by a breaking and entering brother, a missing father, and a few demonic forces. What are the two former hunters to do?
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

Hey Y'all, I'm back!

Hope you guys are doing great, and I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long. Thank you for all the support, and reviews.

For those of you who haven't read 'Of Candy Bars and Golden Retrievers,' I advise you go back and do so before you get into this one, so you have some explanation behind this AU insanity.

For the rest of you, I have a few questions I'd like to ask you, and if you could answer in the comments that'd awesome.

1) What did I do right?

2) What did I do wrong?

3) What could I improve?

4) Was anyone too ooc?

5) Were there any plot holes you'd like me to explain?

6) And any additional thoughts.

Thank you, my lovelies! Now on with the story!

LL

Edit: For those of you who saw that little freak out the text did, I think I fixed it. Feel free to tell me otherwise, though!

ooOXxXOoo

It was nearing one in the morning. The apartment was dim, only light by the streetlamp outside. The room was large and well decorated. It looked alive, as if someone had just gotten up from the couch.

The eyes watched cautiously, and a bit resentfully. The one living here should not be able to afford it. Could not. The eyes had been watching for days and had never seen the tenant go to work, once.

It was a small matter though.

The door to the apartment swung open. A man stepped through, disheveled and exhausted, completely oblivious to the eyes watching his every move. He plodded to fridge and grabbed a beer as he began shuffling through the mail grasped in his hand.

He ripped open one of the letters and scanned it quickly before smiling and placing it back in the envelope. He through the others onto the counter and walked into the other room, unaware that he was being watched.

The eyes analyzed the man. Curious but wary, and with an edge of danger. Who was this man? Why was he here?

Didn't matter, the eyes decided in the end, he was here. He was awake, so he'd be dealt with.

The eyes moved forward, creeping through the living room from it's shadowed alcove, stopping only when it heard the footsteps draw near. It would be done tonight.

ooOXxXOoo

The man stood in the bathroom, peeling off the days dirty clothes. As each piece hit the floor his humming became louder.

He flicked on the shower. As he waited for the water to heat up, he walked back to the mirror and grabbed a towel from under the sink. He set it on the counter a stepped into the shower.

The heat of the water made him sigh as he turned his head up toward the spray.

"Well the dark~… shines around you liars." He sang into the bottle of shampoo. "I feel the pain~… of compromise, and when the dark~… shines around you liars~, I feel the pain… of compromise. It makes me want to explode~!"

He hears a noise, soft, and barely there. The man, suspicious and wary, steps out of the shower. He slides into his loose sweats and opens the door quietly.

On the bed is his partner, who is standing behind the door frame to the study. The man steps carefully behind the doorway to the living room and nods at his partner.

Quickly, both swing low through their respective door frames and carefully look around the next.

The man slides through the room, looking carefully around. He couldn't see anyone, but the counter was obstructing most of his view.

Inching he way around the island, he saw an indistinct shape crouched down. It appeared to be turned away.

The man, not wanted to lose the advantage, tackled the shape to the ground.

The shape, reacting faster than normal, tossed the man off and stood quickly. He launched a kick at the shape followed by a quick punch to the ribs. The man was satisfied to hear a crack and a muffled moan.

The shape, however, fought through the pain and launched it's own attack, shoving him backwards into the living room, and attempted to sweep his legs from under him followed by an elbow. The sweep doesn't connect, but the elbow cracks into his nose.

The man winced as blood begins running, but performed his own sweep and knocked the shape on it's back. He snatched his keys from the coffee table and flicks the pocket knife open, holding it against the shape's neck.

The light flicked on as the man's partner rushed into the room.

"Dean?"

"Heya, Sammy." The shape replied, a grin on his face even as he very carefully doesn't move.

"Wait a minute, you're Dean? Sam's brother?" The man asked a little nasally, retracting his blade.

"Yeah." Sam confirmed. "Though I don't know why he didn't just knock."

The man rolled his eyes at the two of them and offers Dean a hand. The older Winchester accepts it and is pulled to his feet with a hard yank.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked. "And why didn't you call?"

"Would you have picked up if I had?" Dean asked raising an eyebrow.

"Probably." Sam replied quickly. The man couldn't help but notice that Dean seemed honestly surprised by that statement. But the brother let it rest for the moment.

"Anyway, I gotta borrow your roomie here, and talk about some private family business." Dean tried to signal Sam.

Sam, however, rolled his eyes and strode over to the man and tilted his head up, looking at the bloodied and slightly crooked nose.

"I don't think it's broken." Sam told him as he winced. "But you're definitely gonna need to get it checked out."

"You're such a mom." The man complained, but accepted the dishtowel for his nose.

Sam rolled his eyes again and let his hand fall to his side, turning back to his brother.

Dean had a light in his eyes that said he had his suspicions but didn't have any proof. They could be best friends, for all he knew.

Sam didn't much feel like correcting him.

"I'm pretty sure I cracked your ribs, though." The man said, clutching the towel to his nose. "Maybe even broken."

Dean grimaced and nodded his agreement. "Who the Hell are you, anyway? Jackie Chan?"

"Gabe," he replied with a smirk. "Feel free to call me senpai, though."

Dean's eyes widened a bit at that statement and a almost imperceptible blush spread across his nose, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to a bemused Sam.

"Seriously, though. I do need to talk to you privately." Dean said, changing the topic rather abruptly.

"Whatever you need to say, you can say it here." Sam decided, not budging from his position next to Gabe.

"Okay…" Dean breathed deeply. "So, dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift." Sam told him, rolling his eyes. "He'll stumble back sooner or later."

"Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days." Dean once again tried to signal Sam to get rid of Gabe.

This, strangely, failed.

"So, dad's missing, huh?" Sam sighed and pulled out a chair, sitting down. "What about the Amherst case? Or the on in Clifton? He was missing then, what makes this any different?"

Dean, a little puzzled by Sam's apparent acceptance, answers, "Not for this long. He's in trouble, I can feel it."

Sam looked at him carefully. "What was he hunting?"

"Uh," Dean reached into his pocket, wincing as he moved his ribs. He pulled out a piece of paper, an article. With a careful look at Gabe, who was watching him carefully, he read out a summary. "He was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy," he handed Sam the article, "vanished. They found his car abandoned but he was gone. Completely MIA."

"Could've been kidnapped." Sam theorized quickly.

"Yeah…" Another careful look was thrown at Gabe, but he continued. "'Cept there were more. One in April, and one in December '04, '03, '98, '92. Ten in the past twenty years. All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road.

"It started happening more and more, so Dad went digging. That was three weeks ago. Haven't heard anything since, which is bad enough. But then I got this."

Sam accepted the phone Dean offered, the voicemail cued to play. Instead of pressing it to his ear like Dean wanted, though, he played it on speaker.

"Dean… something big is starting to happen… I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may… Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

It was quiet for a moment.

"That's a lot of EVP." Gabe spoke up, pulling the towel away from his face.

Dean turned a startled face from Sam to Gabe then back again. "He's a hunter? You're a hunter?"

"Former." Gabe confirmed. Dean went to ask a question, but Sam interrupted.

"Did you pull out the EVP, though?"

"Uh…" Dean glanced once more at the newly revealed hunter, before pulling a tape recorder out of his pocket and hitting play.

A woman's voice rang out, quiet and seemingly in pain. "I can never go home…"

Dean hit the stop button.

"Never go home…" Sam repeated carefully as Gabe wandered over to him and picked up the article now sitting abandoned on the table.

"Hm." Was all he said.

"So." Dean began. "Will you come with me?"

Sam looked up at Gabe who, in turn, gave him a significant look that Dean couldn't decipher.

"I want you back by Monday, 8 o'clock in the morning. Understood?" Gabe said after a moment.

"What's 8 o'clock in the morning?" Dean asked, curiosity getting the best of him. In this case, though, he wasn't the only one curious. It seemed as if Sam was unaware of the significance of the day and time, as well.

Gabe turned and snatched up the letter Dean had seen him reading earlier. He slapped it down on the table next to Sam, with a proud grin stretched across his cheeks.

"174!" He declared.

"What, seriously?!" Sam exclaimed, full of excitement but with a note of panic. He ripped the letter out of it's envelope and read the letter quickly, his panic falling away.

He stood and swept Gabe up in searing kiss, disregarding a baffled Dean for the moment. They separated after a hot moment, Sam grinning like a loon and Gabe smiling a little dazedly.

"So… that happened." Dean said finally, unable to keep the confused smirk off his face.

Sam cleared his throat as Gabe shook his head to regain focus.

"Right, I need you back on Monday eight o'clock for your interview." The short man said, finally. "I wish I could go with you, but I've got work tomorrow."

"Alright." Sam agreed. "You heard the man. I'll go pack a bag."

Dean was thrown off by this strange amount of acceptance from the guy who said he never wanted to hunt again, but decided to ask once they were on their way. Instead, he just said, "I'll meet you in the car then?"

And Dean retreated out the door and Sam and Gabe were left alone.

Sam turned back to Gabe, pulling him close. "You're really okay with me going with Dean until Monday?"

"Yeah." Gabe replied, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist. "I just wish I could help you guys out. Maybe meet your dad…?" He trailed off hopefully.

Sam laughed. "I'll ask him to come down here to meet you if you really want, but I'm making no promises."

Gabe smiled in return. "I'll take what I can get." He released Sam. "Now, don't we have some packing to do?"

ooOXxXOoo

It was seven in the morning. The older Winchester's dark car roared down the road, and into a gas station parking lot. The younger of the two had only just woken up, so the older one sent him inside for some snacks.

Dean stood leaning against his Impala while the tank began filling up. He was watching the occupant of a car two pumps away. She was a lovely petite brunette who was eyeing him and his jacket the way a lion would circling it's meal.

Dean was not objecting.

His staring contest with the hot girl was interrupted by a bag of chips hitting his face.

"Dude!" Sam just rolled his eyes.

"We're supposed to be finding Dad, not eye-fucking every hot girl you see."

"Oooh, Sammy's got some language. For shame." Dean mocked. He decided to keep that for later, though.

Sam gave him an exasperated look that said, 'Get in the fucking car.'

Dean got in the car.

Sam sat in the passenger seat digging through Dean music collection.

"Seriously do have anything other than the greatest hits of mullet-rock?" He complained, rifling through the cardboard box.

Dean snatched one of the tapes and shoved it in.

"You do know, there's these useful new things called CDs, right?" Sam was being particularly snarky that day, Dean decided.

"Shut up. And don't complain about my music."

"It's like you haven't heard anything past 1989. You're eternally stuck in the '80s."

"Oi! House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shut gun shuts his cake hole." He tossed the empty cassette case into the box and pulled out of the station lot.

"Well, you never let me drive, so…" But Sam pulled out the case file and began going over it, because he was an awesome little brother like that.

Or so Dean liked to think anyway.

About twenty miles or so later, though, he couldn't help himself. Sam was being far too quiet, concentrating on the file, and he had some pressing questions.

He turned down the music and Sam looked up.

"So, ah…" Dean began awkwardly. "You and him, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam blinked. "Me and Gabe? What about it?"

"I just… I don't know. I always thought you liked girls."

"I do."

"But you're with him?"

"Yeah." Sam was getting an increasingly amused look on his face, while Dean was looking more uncomfortable.

"…And that happened?"

"Yes, it did."

"…Ah." Sam chuckled.

"Dude. I think you're asking me if I fucked my boyfriend." Dean looked scandalized.

"No, no I didn't. Because you're my brother and I really don't need to know that about you. Like really."

Sam laughed again and said, "What do you really want to ask then?"

"… If I ask would you actually answer?"

"Depends on the question, I suppose."

"Okay…" Dean took a deep breath. "You're dating a dude. When did that happen?"

"About three months into my first year here. I was running in the quad – that's the grassy area in the middle – and my friend Brady was trying to set me up with another date. Gabe was sitting there people-watching, so I walked over to avoid Brady. He ended up asking me out and the rest is history I guess." Sam shrugged.

"But a hunter? I thought you were done with that."

"I didn't actually know he was a former hunter until a few months later."

"Former hunter? Like you?"

"No. Well, sort of, I guess. He did leave his family to go to school and get a semi-normal life, but for much better reasons than me." Dean's head snapped around to Sam who was back to reading the file.

"You sayin' you regret leaving?"

Sam considered that statement for a moment.

"No. Not exactly. If I'd never left, I'd have never met Gabe, but I do wish everyone'd parted on better terms. His family life makes ours look like the Bradys." At Dean's curiosity, Sam continued. "He's from a family of hunters. Youngest of four brothers: Mike, Luke, Raph, and Gabe."

"Hang on. Aren't Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel archangels, or something? And Luke's a prophet?"

"Yeah. Apparently their Dad was a super religious hunter. Anyway, a few years ago, Luke went crazy and started killing humans as well as monsters."

"Shit…"

"Yeah. So Luke gets arrested, then escapes, and Mike says that he needs to hunt him down and kill him. Raph follows Mike, but Gabe wants no part in it. Says he doesn't even know if they're still alive."

"Where's their dad in all this?"

"Vanished. Maybe didn't want to deal, maybe dead. Gabe said he didn't know."

"…You're right. His family does make ours look like the Bradys." He paused. "What about those scars?" He gestured to his jaw. "Those don't look like they're caused by a monster."

"Car wreck." Sam replied, with a wince. "Drunk driver. Not a good memory."

There was a pause.

"Huh… You're different than I expected." Sam graced him with an honestly confused expression.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you ignore my calls, you've never tried to call back, ever." Sam's face twisted in more confusion.

"I never got any calls. And I don't have your new number."

"New number?"

"Yeah, I called the one you had when I left a few time, but some guy in Omaha answered. You and Dad could've been dead for all I knew."

"…That's weird 'cause I didn't change it." The brothers exchanged a significant look.

"Something to look into after we find Dad." Sam said slowly. Dean's eyebrows scrunched together.

"And if it's supernatural in origin?" Sam gave him a look.

"You know it probably is. And I'm the one suggesting it."

"..huh. You'd willing to jump right back into the hunter life?"

"Not completely. I still want my degree." Sam specified. "I can be a lawyer and a hunter. And it would provide a legit cover for bailing you out of jail."

"So you want to hunt on your off time?" Dean stared.

"More like a legal route for hunters in a tight spot." He added, "Bobby still has that hunter tree right?"

"I, uh, haven't really talked to Bobby lately." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Have you at least talked to Pastor Jim or Dad's friend – what's his name – Cael or something?" He asked exasperatedly.

"You mean Caleb?" Dean guessed, resisting the urge to rub his neck sheepishly. "No, not for a while. He's Dad's friend, not mine. I did stay at Pastor Jim's for a couple of weeks, though. I worked on a case with him in the area."

"That's something, I guess." Sam muttered shaking his head.

"But that's your plan, then? Become someone hunters call when they need legal help?" Dean was curious as to how long he'd actually been thinking about this.

"Not my plan, exactly." Sam admitted. "Gabe and I talked about it. He originally went to med school the become a hunter/doctor."

"Like a mob-doctor?" Dean squinted.

Sam laughed. "Kind of, but better trained."

"So why didn't he?"

"The whole thing with his brothers happened."

"Ah. But you guys'd team up as a legal and medical knowledge contact kinda thing?"

"Yeah."

"… That's actually pretty cool."

Sam smirked. "Does that mean I get to pick the music now."

"Not a chance."

ooOXxXOoo

"Dr. Coellum! Dr. Coellum!" Macy shouted down the hallway. The doctor in question paused in the middle waving for Dr. Faraday to continue walking. Macy panted slightly as she caught up with the mildly bemused doctor. "Dr. Coellum…"

"What can I do for you Macy? And why couldn't you just page me?" He asked the breathless nurse.

"You pager isn't working, sir." She panted, holding a new pager up for him.

"Thanks… but that can't be all you wanted to tell me." She shook her head, as she regained her breath.

"Mr. Attwood, Mr. Jones, and Ms. Mattison all died twenty minutes ago." Gabe's eyes widened and he began walking briskly towards the elevator.

"Mr. Attwood was in surgery, so I could understand complications," he began as the nurse struggled to keep up. "Mr. Jones came in last night with stomach pain, possibly ulcerative colitis, but Ms. Mattison was about to leave. She had a fractured femur. Has the coroner done an autopsy yet?"

"No, he was asking for you, though." Gabe stepped into the elevator.

"Thank you, Macy. Hold all my calls, and pass all new cases until I get this figured out." The nurse nodded and he saw her rush back to the center desk and the doors closed.

When they opened again, he was in the basement suite. The chilly air of the morgue greeted him as he stepped out and headed towards the coroner's office.

"Dr. Svadilfari, have you done the autopsy, yet?" Gabe asked the bespectacled man.

"On Mr. Attwood, yes. On the other two, no." He pointed to the two occupied tables next to the one he was sowing up. "The preliminary report on him is on the table near the cooler. I'm guessing you want to do the autopsies yourself?"

"If you'll allow it."

The coroner snorted. "I just got here, in case you didn't hear the gossip. I have mountains of paperwork to go through from my predecessor."

"Well, I hope you fair better than Dr. Cordem." Gabe winced.

Dr. Svadilfari gave him a sour look. "Low bar, isn't it? He died of, what? Upper respiratory arrest – from inhaling too many chemicals, mind you –while he was driving his car? Killed four other people."

"Ah…" Gabe didn't really know how to respond to that, so he stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then, the coroner sighed and left the room, most likely to make a dent in the paperwork he mentioned.

Gabe didn't envy him, but turning back to the three laid out bodies and the report, he couldn't help but wish he were anywhere else.

He began with the autopsy report.

Flipping past the physical description and identification numbers, his eyes rested immediately on the cause of death and the general summary.

"Jeffery Allen Attwood. 42 years of age. In the hospital for a new kidney. Cause of death… poisoning." That couldn't be right. Attwood was on the operating table, doped up with anesthesia, sure, but surely the anesthesiologist wouldn't have messed up so badly? Scanning down to the summary, he was… mildly disturbed at what he found. "Mr. Attwood suffered for the introduction of sulfuric acid into his bloodstream, turning his blood to ash… The introduction sight has not been identified…"

He looked at the body of Mr. Attwood next to him. He set down the report and slipped on a pair of gloves.

He did nothing more than go over the body, checking for any injection sights or nicks of any kind. Rechecking the new coroner's work took a good ten minutes, but was fruitless. There were no open wounds or needle marks other than the ones left by the IV and the operating team. Perhaps it was introduced by one of them?

Gabe shook his head and moved on to the next body. Flipping on the tape recorder nearby and slipping on some new gloves, he began his examination.

"Alec Henry Jones. 54 years of age. In the hospital for severe diarrhea, stomach pain, and anemia. Suspected Ulcerative Colitis. Skin shows no open wounds or marks, though… it does have a slight waxy feel to it." Gabriel frowned as he rubbed the area around the man's lips. "Not a topical application. Continuing on, his eyes are bloodshot and greying and the cornea is milky… could be caused by Keratitis.

"Scalp shows signs of hair loss, possibly from anemia. The scalp also has an unusual rough texture to it. Could be nothing…"

And so it continued for two and a half hours. He opened both Alec Henry Jones, 54, and Mary Corrinne Mattison, 22, and it was conclusive. They had all died from the same thing.

Sulfuric acid poisoning. No marks to explain how it had gotten there, but it had boiled the blood and several internal organs into ash.

Gabe sighed as he handed the written up reports to Dr. Svadilfari and began his journey upstairs.

To his utter surprise, the police were in the administrators office when he arrived.

"I can come back later, if you're busy, sir?" Gabe offered to the man at the desk.

"Dr. Coellum, no sit down." His tone was serious as he gestured to the chair, far cry from it's usual cheery sarcasm. Gabe took a seat next to one of the officers, a blonde woman who had a striking resemblance to Jessica Moore, Sam's friend. She was accompanied by a stern-looking man with a thick mustache rivaling Stalin's when he was alive. "This discussion involves you, I'm afraid."

"Did I do something wrong?" Gabe frowned.

"Your hospital issued pager." The woman responded turning to him. "A nurse Macy Addams turned it in for repair, who then found it sabotaged."

"And then three of our patients died, because of that sabotage." The administrator added grimly.

"This makes then responsible for manslaughter." The woman agreed.

"Um… I think they knew that people would die. That they intended for it, actually." Gabe told them, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"What makes you say that?" Mustache asked leaning forward.

"I have the autopsy results for all three deaths." He handed over the report duplicates, one to each of the office occupants. "All three were poisoned."

"With what?" The woman asked, flipping through the report on Attwood.

"Sulfuric acid." All three pairs of eyes shot to him.

"Acid? In their blood?" She flipped her report back open and read something, shuddering at the end. "It turned their blood to ash?"

Gabe nodded.

"Why would someone want to kill these three patients?" The administrator asked, a little desperately. Mustache gave Gabe a considering look.

"It might be to frame you, get you disbarred or something." He said finally.

"What?!" The Administrator let out a startled yelp, but Gabe gave it some consideration.

"Why?"

"Who knows?" The woman shrugged. "Could be the family member of a patient who's died, a scorned lover, a delusional grudge, a real grudge. But we're here to find out."

Gabe nodded then he paused.

"…I probably shouldn't go to work for awhile, then, huh? So this doesn't happen again."

"That'd be advisable." Mustache nodded to the administrator who frowned.

Finally, though, he nodded his agreement.

"Where do you normally store your pager off work?" The woman asked suddenly.

"Bedside table at my apartment."

"May we search your apartment for any clues?"

"Sure. I'm heading home now, anyway."

"Let me walk you to your car." The woman jumped up, but her partner stayed seated. "Don't worry." She told him, noticing his attention. "Jacobs finds it less uncomfortable to ask someone's boss about them when they're not in the room."

Gabe nodded in understanding.

The two walked down the stairs, instead of taking the elevator, likely so the woman could ask him a few more questions in relative privacy.

His suspicions were confirmed when they had descended a floor.

"So… Your nose. Do you mind if I ask what happened?" She began with the obvious. The black and blue across the bridge of his nose made him look more like a boxer than a doctor, but it wasn't broken, so sliver lining.

"I had a scuffle with an unexpected house guest last night." He admitted.

"A burglar?" Gabe shook his head.

"My boyfriend's brother decided doors were for losers and gave us both a good scare, and I'm pretty sure I cracked one or two of his ribs."

"Was he attempting to steal anything?" She asked intently, but Gabe shook his head again.

"Unless you count a cold beer and his brother for a family trip." She nodded and wrote that down.

"And who has access to your apartment?"

"Um, Sam – my boyfriend –, Jessica Moore, Tyson Brady, the super, and the neighbors, the Thompsons."

After a few floors of silence, she finally said something.

"Mr. Coellum, have you considered the possibility that this might be a hate crime?" That gave him pause, and he froze for a moment on the stairs, frowning.

"I hadn't, actually." He admitted. He resumed their walk. "Everyone who knows has been really cool about it."

She just nodded and let them walk in resumed silence.

ooOXxXOoo

After letting the detectives into his apartment for some sleuthing, he gave them his number and that he was going out.

In truth he was going to do some sleuthing of his own.

He knew from the patient history, that all three patients had been seen around the same area before they died, so it was a simple matter of figuring out if it was some weird new drug or an environmental factor rather than murder, though facts were a little stacked against him.

Either way, it wouldn't hurt to look around.

The trek to his car, though, was interrupted rather abruptly by a girl, barely older than eighteen who was frowning at him with worry.

"Can I help you?" He asked, eyebrow raised at the girl that stood in his path.

"You don't remember me?" She asked in astonishment. He shook his head. "Oh, right, he said you wouldn't… Um… Right, I'm supposed to give you this. He said you'll need it." She said handing him a small box. He frowned down at the box, unsure where this was going. "Well? Aren't you gonna open it?"

He looked down at the box. Nondescript with blue wrapping, it looked almost like a book, but it was far too small. He hesitantly ripped off the paper and opened it. His face went blank.

"Ah… it's a necklace." He said flatly. The girl peered in and confirmed with a shrug.

"I'm just doing what the guy told me to. He said you'll need that in the future and that I should deliver it as thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

"For not killing me." She said it so blithely that Gabe couldn't help but believe her, even if he couldn't remember a 'not killing her' moment.

He shrugged and pulled the necklace out. It was a gorgeously wrought piece of silver and blue colored crystal in the shape of a Celtic cross. It was strung on a simple silver chain and couldn't have been more than two inches long.

"Thanks…?" He said, but when he looked up, the girl was gone.

Unsure of what to do with it, he stuck it in his coat pocket. He heads to his car and sits in the front seat. He sat still for a moment before pulling out his cell.

It rings and then the voicemail message plays. Gabe frowned in disappointment, but left his message.

"Hey, Sam. I know it's only been a day, but I'm a little worried about you. I'm having my own issues here, though. Turns out three of my patients were poisoned with acid and someone might be trying to get me disbarred. Either way, I'm off work for the next few days so I might head up there and help you guys out if you need it. Love ya. Bye."


	2. Chapter 2: of The End

Hey guys! Hope y'all are well!

So, I'm moving in roughly two to three weeks, so I'm not sure if I'm gonna make the deadline for the next chapter, but I'll certainly try.

Thank you for reading, you guys are great! If you have any feedback, I'd love to hear it. I also have a poll on my profile about future pairings, so if you wanna check that out, that'd be awesome.

This is the end of episode 1, and I know some of you are anxious to know what happens to Gabe. Seeing as the title of the story is called 'Gabriel,' however...

Anyway! I don't own supernatural, but I do own the varied OCs and poorly named entities.

On with the story, my lovelies!

LL

ooOXxXOoo

"Salt, cats-eye shells… he was worried." Sam looked around the room his father had been staying in. "Trying to keep something from coming in." He saw Dean staring at the wall. "What've you got?"

"Centennial Highway victims." The elder brother answered.

The two brothers looked at the victims on the wall.

"I don't get it." Dean finally declared. "I mean, different men, different job, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

"Dad figured it out?" Sam spoke up from the desk. Dean spun to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."

Dean looked at the victims' photos again.

"You sly dogs." He turned back to Sam. "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."

"She might have another weakness." Sam tried.

"Well, Dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"

"No, not from what I can find. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband. If he's still alive, of course." Sam accidentally breathed in through his nose, wrinkling it in disgust at the smell coming from Dean. "You should get cleaned up first."

Dean looked down at himself in consideration. "You don't think I look like a reporter?" He flashed a grin at Sam's eye roll. "I'll take a quick shower, Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out his phone. Flashing on screen was the voicemail notification. It was from Gabe.

With a curse, Sam pressed play and put the phone to his ear.

"Hey-m. I kn- -ly bee- -ay, but I'm a l-rried about you. I'm -is- here, though. Turns out -BEEP!" Sam frowned. "Can not play the rest of message due to corruption."

Sam pulled the phone from his ear and stared thoughtfully at it. It was clearly Gabe's voice, but it cut in and out like he was going through a tunnel. And what would corrupt a message that came in only – Sam checked – an hour ago?

Sighing at yet another mystery in his life, he resolves to get back as soon as possible afterwards. No pitstops at a bar or extended family reunions. Solve this case, find Dad, go home. If Dean and Dad wanted to join, awesome. If not, oh well.

"Hey, man." Dean stepped out of the bathroom no longer smelling like a toilet. "I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?"

ooOXxXOoo

Gabe stepped out of the car near the last warehouse in the row. This one was the last of three of the five that were no longer in use.

He had found no signs of anything in any of those buildings, though he had to resort to some basic B&E with the two still-used warehouses. No signs of mold, airborne or ingestible toxins, or drugs of any kind. No sign of any people, either, though it was a Sunday.

He grab his paper mask from out of his kit, even if he doubted it would be of any use, and slipped it on. He also grabbed a flashlight and his gloves, and stuck a few sample bags in his pockets, just in case.

You could never be too careful.

He was able to open the door with a sharp nudge from his shoulder. It wasn't locked, but the wood was warped.

Who had thought it was a good idea to use a wooden door for a warehouse? It just looked tacky, he thought.

Exterior decorating aside, though, the inside was surprisingly full of just crap. Boxes, wooden and carboard, rotting and in one piece, boxes lined the walls and made semi-neat isles for him, like a corn maze. He leaned down at a spot about ten feet in where a small pile of something was laying.

Yellow and powdered, Gabe was careful not to breath in the substance while putting a sample in one of the sample bags.

However, when he went to put the sample into his lab coat, the interior had a solid rip down the seam.

He sighed and trudged back to his car. He slipped the coat off and tossed it into the front seat, the sample bag sitting on top.

He slammed his door shut once more, and walked back into the building.

Going further in, to the end of one of the box rows, he found a room. Empty, save for a strange series of syringes lined on a desk leaning against the far wall, Gabe found himself curious.

He walked over to the desk and picked up one of the syringes. Each one had a progressively darker liquid inside. The one he picked up seemed to sit somewhere in the middle of the color range, the color of a good red wine.

"Do you like my little project?" A voice said from the doorway, startling Gabe into dropping the syringe of mystery liquid. He spun around reached for a weapon, cursing when he realized he left his gun in the car. He looked upon the intruder.

"Brady?" He asked in confusion. What was Sam's friend doing here?

"Ah, Sam's odd paramour." Brady was smirking strangely, unnerving Gabe slightly. "You made my job really hard, did you know?"

"What are you talking about?" He edged around the smashed syringe on the ground so his back was against the desk. "These are yours?" He gestured to the desk.

"Mm." Brady agreed proudly as he crossed his arms and leaned against the far wall. "I've been working really hard on it, but it's not done yet. You ran into a few of my failures, or, well…" He chuckled, "I gave them to you."

"Gave them…?" Gabe reached slowly back for one of the vials, careful to block the movement with his body.

"Yes." Brady, strangely enough began cleaning his nails while Gabe secured one of the vials behind his back. "I was curious about you. I mean, you're Sam's boyfriend! Yet no one can find much on your background. I was convinced you were a creature of some kind for a while, but, well, the air here is strange." He waved a hand at the air. "A very odd mixture of demonic and divine energies, all converged on the Stanford campus. I think it's because of Sam." Brady confided suddenly. "The energy started flaring here when he arrived. Auras are muted here, powers lessened in some areas and greatened in others, and then you came along and screwed with my plans."

"Your plans?" Gabe prompted carefully, slowly unscrewing the tip of the syringe.

"Well, I say my plans. It's really my boss' plans to be honest, and I'm an honest kinda guy." His smile held a dark edge to it. "See, Jess, little innocent Jessica Moore, she was the perfect candidate for Sam. Pretty and pure and normal, everything that he was looking for in life, all wrapped up in one little human woman." His smile turned into a glare. "And the day I was going to introduce them you have to stumble along like an oaf and muck up all my plans."

His smile turned benevolent once more. "But in the end it doesn't really matter. Sam loves you. And if you die, his agony and rage." He let out a low laugh. "The world might not survive it. And that's what we're counting on." He stood from his spot on the wall and casually began slinking toward the brunet doctor. "You get to die in agony and I get to watch Sam Fall."

Gabe was momentarily distracted by the second half of Brady's last statement, which meant he wasn't able to react cleanly to the sudden invisible force tossing him across the room. He landed face first.

Stunned, pulled himself up carefully as he spat out the blood dripping down from his now definitely broken nose and probably concussed head, but his hand was still secured around the vial. He felt Brady's approach, and then his head was tugged back by the hair.

Brady leaned in close, running his free hand along the series of short scars on his jaw, stilling Gabe in his struggles. "I tried to kill you before, you know? That car accident that caused such lovely damage to your face was my doing. I hope you appreciate how much effort it took to kill you thus far."

"You'll have to try harder than that, then!" Gabe replied as he smashed the vial into Brady's cheek. Wet glass broke on his hand, imbedding themselves in his skin.

Startled, Gabe's hair was released. The man in question took that opportunity to run, only dimly noting the way Brady's cheek had begun dissolving in contact with the liquid causing him to scream and paw at the burning liquid.

Ignoring the way his own hand burned like it had been set on fire, he tore out of the building, carelessly smacking boxes down to block the path outward. Hopefully that would block any exit.

He fumbled with his car door for a moment, losing precious time as he heard Brady's shrieks of pain turn into screams of anger.

And they were getting closer.

ooOXxXOoo

The "Highway to Hell" blared out the windows as the Impala tore down the road, completely ignoring the speed limit.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, fresh gashes on his arms and chest, but with a map, flashlight, and a rule out on his lap. Dean sat in the driver's seat, nodding along to the music a satisfied look on his face, even as he rubbed the dash of his car lovingly.

"Okay, here's where the coordinates lead." Sam spoke up finally, distracting Dean from the music. "It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

"Sounds charming." Dean nodded. "How far?"

"About six hundred miles."

"Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning." Dean told him with a quietly hopeful look.

Sam turned an annoyed stare on him.

"In the event that it's not where Dad is and is instead, more likely, another hunt, I will have missed my interview that I've been working the last four years to get, and not be anywhere near Gabe. Ask me again tomorrow afternoon." He turned back to the map.

Dean glanced over at him considering.

"You're really up for a trip if we leave tomorrow afternoon."

"Yeah." Sam replied absently. "I think Gabe has some vacation days built up, he could probably join us."

Dean frowned.

"You'd only go if your boyfriend came along?" Sam snorted.

"I'd like for him to come along, but I also realize that Dad's a cryptic bastard sometimes, and you could use some help."

Dean, reassured by his brother's affirming words, even if they were a little insulting.

As they pulled up to the building, Sam saw Gabe's car in their parking spot. He smiled and hopped out.

"You should find a motel for the night." Sam informed his brother. Dean's eyes lit up in confusion.

"I can't sleep on the couch?"

"Unless you want to hear your little brother getting laid…?" Sam trailed off.

"Nope. Nope, nope, no!" Dean replied resolutely. "I do not want to know my brother's sexual activity."

He started up the car and as he began driving away, Sam swore he could hear Dean muttering something along the lines of, "Baby brother's gettin' more action then me…"

Sam shook his head with a smirk, and went inside.

One elevator ride up later, he walked through the door to the apartment. He was happy to note that the lights were still on, meaning Gabe wasn't passed out from work. The mail laid on the counter, the National Geographic open with slightly wrinkled pages.

Sam picked it up and skimmed the article it was open to, an advertisement, strangely enough, for a pharmaceuticals company. Sam shrugged and decided Gabe was looking for a new supplier at the hospital.

He walked into the bedroom, and heard the shower running full blast, steam coming from under the door.

He grinned and flopped back on the bed, pillowing his head in his hands. For a moment he just rested there, waiting to surprise Gabe when he stepped out of the shower.

He scrunched his nose after a moment. Something was hitting his face. He reached a hand up to touch whatever it was and found it wet and warm.

Almost unwilling to open his eyes, he cursed at the thought of another burst pipe or flooded tub from upstairs.

What he found instead was so much worse.

Gabe was pinned to the ceiling by some invisible force, vague eyes and blood dripping from a freshly broken nose with years-old scars reopened, likely by a knife. His hand looked like it had been held in a fire for several minutes. But he was clearly already dead.

Sam looked on in silent horror.

Flames burst from above Gabe's body, spreading quickly across the ceiling. It was followed by the sound of something crashing that Sam ignored.

And suddenly, Dean was in the room, tugging Sam off the bed and out of the room, Gabe's burning form still pinned to the ceiling.

"Sam! C'mon, Sam!" Dean was practically carrying the younger man out, who was still staring in mute horror in the direction of their room.

Two hours later, the fire was out, and Sam was seated in the open trunk of Dean's Impala, staring at the now steaming building. The firemen were coming out of the building, to reassure the people that it was no longer on fire and yes, it was covered under their renters insurance.

A police car was there too, a young woman looking like she wanted to go over to the tall brunet, but her partner was holding her back.

Sam didn't really want to hear what they had to say.

Dean decided that he'd go over and talk to the police for him, something Sam was dimly grateful for. He came back with something in his hands. He grabbed Sam's and placed it in his loose grip.

Sam looked down at the item his brother gave him. A small Celtic cross necklace. He looked back up at Dean questioningly.

"The police said that was in his coat pocket in his car. She asked me to give it to you." Dean told him.

Sam stared at the necklace for a moment before slipping it over his head.

"Are you okay?" His brother asked, concern lighting it up. He knew the answer, of course, but he had to ask.

"No." Sam replied flatly.

Dean nodded slowly.

"Did they say what happened?" His little brother asked in the same dead voice.

"Said someone'd been sabotaging him and killing his patients, but this…" Dean shrugged.

Sam nodded and shut the trunk, walking to the front of the car and opening the passenger door. He stood there for a moment, staring sightlessly at the roof of the Impala.

"We've got work to do."

ooOXxXOoo

Hope y'all aren't too mad at me! I tried to convey how different Sam is when his partner is a former hunter. For those of you who are still confused by a few of the references and unexplained differences in both Sam and Gabe, I point you, once more to 'Of Candy Bars and Golden Retrievers.'

Otherwise, please follow, favorite, and comment. I'd appreciate criticism, praise, suggestions, complaints, hell, I'd even appreciate flames.

Thanks for reading


	3. Chapter 3: New Places

AN: Thanks for the review. Most of your questions will be answered by this chapter, so I won't answer any of them directly.

So it turns out the movers aren't going to arrive until Monday when they said that they'd arrive last Tuesday. I now have to deal with a house full of boxes and crap, with no electricity or WiFi. I'm just glad it's summer or I'd be freezing to death here.

Anyway, I'm just ranting. On with the story!

LL

* * *

He woke up.

At least, he thought he woke up. One moment he knew nothing, was nothing, and then he was there, thinking in exhausting circles.

And he wasn't entirely sure he was even a he, but it was a good a pronoun as any and he didn't much feel like referring to himself as 'it.'

But that was a less pressing issue. What was more important was the fact that he was incorporeal.

At least, that was his assumption. He was full of those today it seemed.

…did day even really exist? And if so, who's to say how time passes wherever he was, if there was even a where to be.

"Jesus Christ, kid. Existential crisis much?" A voice, if it could be called that, rang out through the not-quite-a-place, leaving an odd ringing in his… soul? Spirit, maybe? Seeing as he didn't have any ears to hear anything...

"You're gonna be like this all day aren't ya?" The voice(?) sounded exasperated. There was a sigh and suddenly, he was a person again.

"That was weird." He patted himself down for injuries and to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

Looking around, he found himself in a… particularly bland white room. White walls, white floors, white dinner table and chair. The only thing not white in the room, was a large, blue, rectangular frame on the wall. There was no picture inside, it just hung on the wall like some sort of post modernist art decoration.

"I swear, only you'd have this boring room as your heaven." The voice said, speaking up again. Now that he had form, the voice sounded like it was behind him.

He spun on his heel and faced a very odd sight.

It was… himself.

Well, it looked like a younger him. Or at least that's what instinct told him. He still didn't even know himself, yet.

But the younger him was smirking at him, leaning against one of the (very boring) walls.

"Wait…" He snatched up one of younger him's previous comments. "You said this is my heaven? I'm dead?"

"Well, dead's such a subjective term…" The younger him mused, with a wicked glint in his eye.

"I'm not in the land of the living anymore, am I?"

Other him pouted.

"Had to ruin my fun, didn'cha? If I was talkin' to Deano, we'd be havin' that conversation for much longer." He shrugged. "Well, suppose I should have expected as much. You know my ways pretty damn well, after all."

"I do?" He muttered. He tried searching his absent memories for mirror him, because it definitely wasn't him.

"Let's say, I'm your… patron. Sponsor, if you will." Mirror said, smirk widening at some private joke.

"Is that why you sort of have my face?"

"That's one reason." Mirror frowned at him, or more specifically, his jaw. "I don't like my… agent to be all scarred, but it's good for differentiating us, I suppose."

He rubbed along the odd texture of his jaw in what was surely a well practiced motion.

"When did you become my… patron?"

"Oh, about the same time you had that devastating little car crash, of yours." Mirror smirked.

"And what does it entail?"

"For me? Not much. I watch you, occasionally lend a helping hand." He shrugged. "For you? You do my bidding, hold my power when I need it, and die for me if I ask."

He stared. Mirror, despite looking like his insolent twin brother, was somehow able to intimidate. Perhaps it was in the eyes.

"Who are you?" The mischievous look in Mirror's eyes increased tenfold.

"I am the bringer of Chaos, the harbinger of turmoil, the herald of payback, and the wordsmith!" Mirror proclaimed dramatically. "I. Am. Loki."

He got the feeling that the being was full of shit, but he was far to powerful to be called out on it.

"Then who am I?"

"You, my little minion, are a man. A man who's destined to cause chaos and anarchy for his love." Loki leveled his smirk at him. "Gabe Coellum."

And suddenly he was. He remembered himself, which was a weird experience, and it was like he'd never forgotten.

"Oh, shit."

Loki smirked at him again. "You remember him. The one that killed you? He is one of my adversaries, and, of course, your own."

"So, he did kill me. For a moment there, I wasn't quite sold on that." Gabe was feeling a tad more snarky and caustic than usual.

"Like I said, death is so subjective." Loki waved his hand. "Before I go, a gift for my acolyte."

Gabe stood and looked around for a moment. He didn't see anything.

"Uh, what is it?"

"You'll figure it out." Loki snapped his fingers after that unhelpful statement and was gone.

It was quiet in the room, the way an abandoned hospital is quiet. Every sound that does happen, seems muffled and yet louder than usual.

Gabe decided he didn't like it.

He wandered his was over to the only mildly interesting thing in the room. The frame. Peering at it from a distance did nothing and brought no new information. So Gabe, being the brilliant scientist he was, decided to poke it.

Immediately, he was overwhelmed and lost.

He was in the white room, still, be he was also in a… cave? Oh, no, that's mining stuff. He's in a mine. Why is he in a mine?

He started at an almost inaudible yell.

Looking in it's direction (which also happened to be the direction of the table), he saw silhouettes. Six, he counted. Four clustered to one side with a tall, oddly shaped figure in the middle. The last, who was opposite the group, seemed to be holding a gun.

The gun-wielding one seemed shout, and suddenly, the middle figure was aflame.

Oh, that was a monster.

Gabe walked(?) up to the burning monster and attempted at a closer look, but it was still very much a silhouette.

Frowning, Gabe looked at the others. The red light, helped to illuminate the others' faces.

There was a single woman, the rest being human men. But that didn't really matter to Gabe because staring right at him, was Sam.

The younger man was squinting at him, like he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. After a moment he shook his head and grinned at Dean, who was standing across for him. But for a moment, Sam saw him.

The view of the mine faded away and the strange double vision dissipated. Looking at the empty frame, he pulled his hand back.

With furrowed eyebrows, Gabe, stared at his hand, turning and twisting it over.

It didn't look any different. The palm was still smooth and pink. The back was still lined with small scars and freckles in equal measure. He could still move his fingers.

Maybe that was Loki's gift? The ability to see the physical world whenever he touched something?

Gabe pressed his hand lightly to the back of the chair, and then firmer when nothing happened.

"Well, shit."

There was, of course, the possibility that this was a timed thing, but Gabe doubted it, with the way Loki was grinning.

He spun back around to face the frame and began examining it once more.

He hadn't noticed before, but the frame seemed to have a series of little carvings on the interior. It was where the picture would normally rest. The carvings looked to be a mixture of Norse runes and hieroglyphs.

The runes made sense, what with Loki's well-known history, but the hieroglyphs… Loki wasn't Egyptian. Or, at least, not to his knowledge.

Gabe put his finger squarely over the small hieroglyph that looked like waves.

The double vision returned, but this time, there were no silhouettes or shadows. Instead, he saw Dean sitting next to a small boy who was drawing, Sam appeared to be talking to the boy's mom further away. Gabe could hear neither conversation, and he couldn't move this time.

He wasn't even sure the movement was because of him the first time, either.

He pulled his finger away from the translucent looking frame, and the double vision left his eyes.

Placing his finger once more on a hieroglyph, graced him with a hilarious image. Dean was clutching the wall of what appeared to be an air plane with an utterly terrified look on his face. His chuckles, though, dislodged his finger.

He glared at it with slight annoyance and replaced his finger.

The room doubled once more, this time showing Sam, kneeling on the ground in front of a mirror, and bleeding from the eyes. The mirror, not behaving like mirrors often do, showed a standing Sam, also bleeding from the eyes.

For some reason, this vision was different than the others, in that it had sound, and the mirror Sam was speaking.

"You never told him the truth, did you?" He said in a strangely distorted voice. "Never told him about the dreams?"

What dream? Sammy, what dreams?

"Those nightmares you've been having every night? Of Gabe dying, screaming… burning? You had them for days before he died. Didn't you? Were you so desperate to be normal, that you believed they were just dreams? How could you ignore them like that? How could you leave him alone to die? You dreamt it would happen!" Mirror Sam roared his accusations to a weakening Sam.

Don't listen, Sam! Gabe tried to shout. Don't listen to the stupid possessed mirror!

Before he could find out Sam's fate, the room faded out again.

"NO!" He raged at the frame. "No, I need to see! Take me back! Show me Sam! Show me what happened to him!"

The frame seemed to accept his demand, and faded the room back out of focus.

There was no double image and he wasn't looking at the mirror room from last time. He marveled quietly for a moment, at the busy street corner, full of people passing by. The loud roar of a muscle car sounded, distracting him as it drove by. And there, in the passenger seat, was Sam.

For a moment, the younger man looked as if he were seeing a ghost. Terrified, and slightly hopeful. Then, the look passed and he turned back to the driver, presumably Dean.

Then the white room returned and Gabe sat down.

Sam had seen him. Actually seen him. The first time wasn't a fluke.

But what was so different about those two times? Was it emotion? Possible. He'd been hopeful when Sam had looked in his direction and when Sam had spotted him on the corner. Or was it a rechargeable thing? Sam could only see him once every five trips?

That brought up a different question, though. How much time was passing between each… vision? Between the first and the second, it seemed like weeks, the next few seemed days apart, while the last seemed to be only hours. If he went back in now, would months have passed?

He didn't have the answers now, and he probably wouldn't have them any time soon, but he could work with this.

Yes, he could definitely work with this.


	4. Chapter 4: Doorways

I'm still about five days from my new house, and ten days from my beloved bed, but I have WiFi and that's all that really matters to you.

I'm still accepting votes on pairings in this story. I have the poll on my profile.

Thanks,

LL

Well that didn't work.

He was crumpled next to the table clutching his head in his hands, blood coming from his nose.

He didn't even know ghosts could feel, much less bleed.

Gabe shook his head and stood on unsteady feet. He needed to figure out the frame, not just for his own, selfish reasons, but Sam and his brother needed his help. They both were getting far too close to dying for comfort.

He had watched, a silent observer as the brothers went on cases, drove around, and acted like the brothers they were. He'd seen them arguing over the last hamburger in a gaudy motel room and bickering over the music in the car. He'd even seen at, one point, two Deans and a blonde he vaguely remembered as one of Sam's friends. Then one of the Dean's got shot, and the two brothers hightailed it out of town.

That was longest one he'd had, and the last.

Upon returning, though, he'd been hit with a ginormous wave of pain, like the world's worst migraine, and he'd crumpled like a puppet without strings.

"I did not induce that much pain." A voice said from behind him. "You need not wallow in it."

Gabe spun around quickly.

The man, if he was truly a man, stood taller than Gabe, with a bushy red beard and very pale skin. His body, though tall, was severely overweight, his gut jutting out in front of his belt. He was dressed like a banker, grey suit and all.

Somehow, despite his rather less than intimidating appearance, he carried an air of authority and power.

"Are you paying attention?" The man asked, though he had very little inflection in his voice at all. In fact he would look completely disinterested if it was for the tiny crease between his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?" Gabe replied after a moment, carefully searching the man for weapons.

"We are not in Hell." Red-head replied seriously. "And I am Archimeneal."

"…Okay, Archimeneal. What do you want? And how did you get in here?" Gabe frowned as the man ran a hand across the frame surface, but he didn't react otherwise.

"I am an Angel of the Lord." Archie proclaimed with dull pride.

Gabe stared for a few minutes at the slightly preening and yet somehow still deadpanned expression. It was as if this guy needed a manual on facial expressions.

"Bullshit."

Archie frowned blandly at him and in a blink, Gabe doubled over, screaming.

"I do not appreciate being questioned, human. You would do well not to vex me another time." And then his pain was gone.

Cautiously standing up, Gabe checked himself over for injuries. Once he was certain nothing was missing or damaged, he turned his attention back to the impatient "Angel."

"Alright, so you're an angel, that doesn't answer what you're doing here." Archie was beginning to look frustrated again, in his oddly flat manner, but he answered.

"I am an Angel of the Lord. You are in our domain. We are free to do as we please." He frowned. "This time, though, I came with purpose." He levelled intense eyes at a startled Gabe. "How are you exiting your heaven?"

"… what?"

"You have been leaving your personal heaven and returning for the last few 'days.' You set off the warding every time. It is… problematic." An oddly sour sort of petulance crossed the so-called angel's face.

Set off the warding? Why did that sound familiar…?

"Hold on!" Gabe realized. "You're annoyed cause I keep setting off these 'wards' like a car alarm! That's… actually really funny."

Archie glared.

Gabe collapsed mid-laugh, choking as he clutched his chest. Why did it feel like there was a sudden empty cavity in his chest? Why did Archie have a vaguely smug smirk on his pudgy face? And most importantly, why the hell couldn't he breathe?

"Now, I'm used to dealing with you uppity hunters. You are all more trouble than you are worth, but you are my wards and I demand respect." Archie stepped up next to Gabe head, peering down his nose at the pitiful sight of the choking human. "I've found you hunters respond rather well to pain."

Archie stared at him for a few more agonizing seconds. Gabe's vision began to darken at the edges.

Then, when Gabe was sure he'd die, air returned, and with it, the ability to breath.

"Think on it. I will return soon. I have other matters to attend to."

Archie turned and walked through the… wall.

No door appeared, or opening of any kind. Maybe one of this angel's powers? They were allegedly in heaven, the angel's home turf, so maybe the laws of physics didn't apply.

He ran his hand over the spot where the angel had disappeared. There was a very slight texture change, like the difference between leather and pleather. You didn't usually know the difference unless you're specifically looking for it.

Nothing he did activated the transport-beam or whatever it was. He tried everything he could think of, but it stayed stubbornly shut. He had a theory that it was keyed to whatever the 'angels' really were.

That brought up an interesting thought, though. If exiting the room was solely keyed to the angels, then why did Archie need to come and investigate personally? That meant that there were holes in their system. And he could use those.

With the way Archie was addressing the problem, it seemed like there was a way to permanently leave this 'Heaven,' and he intended to find out.

Though that didn't answer the question of Loki. His intentions, his powers, if he was one of these 'angels.' For that matter, 'angel' could be some sort of secret society or malevolent creature, one that stole someone's image like a shapeshifter.

Or Loki could be entirely what he professed. A pagan god. A Norse god, to be exact, of mischief and fire, according to mythology. Listed as a shapeshifter, as well, so that might explain the face stealing. Also, the father/mother of an eight-legged horse, a giant wolf, and a world-eating snake.

Though, that last part probably wasn't relevant.

Shaking his head, Gabe collected himself and moved away from the supposedly blank wall.

With a few brisk strides, he was back at the frame. He planted his hand on it, not caring if anyone was watching. He had this strange certainty that only he could use it.

The room faded away. It was replaced by the darkened interior of… a church, maybe. Sam and Dean were there, as well as a young woman, all three looked fearfully in the same direction.

"… got all the silver." Sam's voice faded in.

"So did I." Dean agreed.

"Then why is he still here?"

"Well maybe we missed something!" Both brothers take a moment to look around. Sam seems to fixate on the girl.

"Lori, where did you get that chain?" He asked slowly.

"My father gave it to me." She replied.

"Where'd your dad get it?" Dean interjected.

"He said it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school."

"Is it silver?!" Sam asked urgently.

"Yes!"

Sam ripped the chain from her neck quickly. And not a moment too soon, as the Hook Man appeared in the hallway to make a long scratch along the wall. Dean watches it intently.

"Sam!" He tossed his little brother a rifle, which Sam exchanges for the necklace.

Dean snatched the necklace out of the air and used the Hook Man's fixation on Lori to sprint out of the room.

Sam took aim at the Hook Man's scratch on the wall and fires. He reloaded quickly, but both his hand and shoulder were injured, inhibiting some movement.

The Hook Man, saw this opportunity and knocked the rifle out of the man's hand.

Both living humans crawled to a corner, hoping to protect themselves from the ghost's hook, but realized the inevitability. The Hook Man towered over the two and raised his infamous hook to strike.

But suddenly, he stopped. A strangely sudden pause, and then, the hook began melting. His body soon followed in a fiery demise, and Sam and Lori both breathed out a gust of air.

Dean raced into the room, likely to be sure of his brother's well being.

When he saw the two on the floor, a little battered, but alive and in one piece, Dean slowed down and eventually came to a stop near the both of them.

"Well, that was shit." He said bluntly, shocking a laugh out of Sam. Lori looked a little scandalized.

"No kidding." Sam agreed. The three sat in silence for a while.

Dean took the opportunity to blatantly look the two over.

Sam was sitting against the wall, clutching his injured arm. He was the picture of exhaustion.

Lori, on the other hand, was leaning toward Sam, as if hoping to lean on his shoulder. She looked no where near as tired, with her hooded eyes and gently pursed lips, making them appear fuller than before.

But Sam seemed oblivious to the subtle clues Lori was giving him, instead rubbing his eyes with his free hand, turning the skin red and irritated.

After a few moments of disinterest, Lori sat up straight and unpursed her lips, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Dean, finally having enough of the awkward exchange, decided to speak up.

"Is that the police I hear?"


	5. Chapter 5: Home

A few weeks had passed since he'd met Archie the 'Angel' and he had made significant progress in length of time following the boys. He'd been able to linger with the boys for upwards of four hours. The only disappointing part of that, though, was that he was still invisible to them.

He still came back to the room, in the end, but at times he was grateful for that. Occasionally, the frame would ignore his requests to get out for a while, typically after a few long uses in a row, but those were often when he was dead tired anyway.

On that note, it turned out that he needed to sleep. Maybe it was a mental thing, his mind was used to needing sleep so he simulated it as a ghost, but his bet was still on being trapped by these so called 'Angels.'

As per his previous comments, Archie had returned a few times. Each one ran pretty similarly. Archie showed up, asked the same questions, tortured him for a bit, and then he left. Gabe had taken to using his visits as a weekend marker, just to irritate the red-head.

His most recent visit, just the other day, had left Gabe with a broken arm and a missing ribcage.

Waking up the next morning had been an odd experience, with the strange feeling of having new set of ribs. All the tenderness that he was unaware of having lived with since his car accident was completely gone. It gave him a strange light feeling in his chest, like 100 lbs. had just been lifted off.

He rather enjoyed this new feeling.

He reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He wanted to get back to seeing what the boys were up to. The frame was at full charge, so this time he might reach five hours.

He stepped forward and pressed a hand to the frame.

He finds himself in a house, which was odd. More often than not, he was given a vision, but he seemed to be standing in a living room. The room looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place from where he'd seen it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Gabe stepped forward to investigate the house.

A woman stepped into the room then, completely ignoring his presence, reaffirming his belief he was invisible. She glanced around for a moment before sitting down on the floor next to a disorganized pile of boxes. She pulls open one and pauses as she stares at a picture in he hands.

Gabe leaned over her shoulder to look, his curiosity winning against his feelings of voyeurism. The photo was one of the woman and a man. They both look happy, grinning out of the frame in radiant wedding clothes.

Gabe looks backed to the woman's face, not in the least surprised to see tears welling in her eyes.

"Mommy?" A voice interrupted the woman's sorrow. Both her and Gabe looked up at the little girl who'd entered the room. The woman surreptitiously wipes away the tears.

"Hey, sweetie." The woman stood up and walked over to her daughter. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"There's something in my closet." The little girl seemed far more scared of it than children normally were, but only Gabe seemed to realize that. Jenny just smiled and told her that she'd 'check it out.'

Gabe followed the two to a child's bedroom, presumably the girl's, and stood stiffly in the doorway, fighting the feeling that he was a creeper.

The mother boldly steps in front of the closet and swings the doors open. The girl seemed to be hiding as far from it as possible, watching her mother's actions carefully.

"See? There's nothing there."

"You sure?" The little girl asked uncertainly.

"I'm sure." The woman replied, obviously humoring her daughter. "Now, come on. Get into bed."

The little girl complied, reluctantly crawling into bed.

" I don't like this house." She confided in her mother.

" You're just not used to it yet." The mother reassured. "But you and your brother and me –- we are going to be very happy here. I promise." She placed a gentle kiss on her daughter's forehead. " I love you."

The woman stood and turned off the lights.

"The chair." The girl pleaded.

" Okay." The woman complied, taking the indicated chair and moved it under the closet doorknob. "The chair. Just to be safe."

And with that, the woman left. Gabe followed her because following the woman was less creepy than staying in the little girl's room.

Thankfully, she didn't go to bed or take a shower or anything else that would have made him feel even worse. Instead, she went back to the living room and began unpacking boxes once more, this time dutifully ignoring the photo that had almost brought her to tears.

Gabe wondered for a moment if that was how Sam was feeling.

"Please don't let it be rats." The woman said, interrupting his speculation. She stood up and walked to the basement door. Gabe got the feeling that he had missed something, but carefully followed after her.

Armed with only a flashlight, the woman entered the basement of what was increasingly looking like a haunted house, as if it were a good idea. She attempted to turn the lights on but the electricity was obviously shot.

"Terrific." Gabe agreed with the sentiment. He wanted the woman out of the basement, now. A chill running up his spine and goosebumps lining his arms.

She looks around, swinging her flashlight around. It made him a bit paranoid that something was going to jump out of one of the shadows and attack her when the light was turned away.

It didn't happen, but that didn't alleviate the feeling.

Spotting the black trunk the same moment the woman does, they both kneel down in front of it to peer in.

To his immense surprise, he recognized the family in the photos.

Gabe had seen the few photos that Sam had, all of them easily contained in his wallet. There had only been one of his entire family and the rest were of the two brothers.

One of the pictures in the trunk has writing on the back, telling them that it was 'The Winchesters. John, Mary, Dean, and Little Sammy.' Gabe faintly echoed the woman's smile at the picture.

Suddenly, he was violently jerked out of the house by an unknown entity. It felt like someone was dragging him by the arm with burning metal handcuffs.

Then, he was lying in a bed, staring at the wall of a motel room like he'd just been woken from a nightmare.

Why was he in a motel?

A passing car lit up the room, startling him a bit. He glanced towards it, surprised to find Dean Winchester slayed out on a bed near the window.

Well, that was an odd transition to the brothers. Far from typical, in fact.

His body moved without his consent, standing and stumbling to the bathroom. His head ducked down and hands came up at his face, cupping water to splash against it. Then his hands pressed on either side of the sink, holding his torso up while his head hung limply down. He heaved a heavy breath. Then his head faced the mirror.

To say Gabe was shocked, would be a bit of an understatement. If he were in control of his action he would have crashed backwards into the bathroom wall, tearing down the towel rack and probably punching a hole through the thin plaster.

As it was, though, Sam stared at him through the mirror, eyes wide and tired, holding no recognition or acknowledgement of the fact that Gabe was staring back at him through his own eyes.

That statement made very little sense out of context, but then again, he was currently kind of possessing his own boyfriend.

Regardless of his less than flattering moment of crisis, Sam went on with his morning, performing all of the morning rituals that Gabe had learned and loved for so long. It helped a bit to calm him down and distract him from the possibility of being stuck possessing Sam forever.

Once Sam was done, Dean woke up and blearily went to get breakfast, unwisely leaving Sam on his lonesome for an extended amount of time.

By the time Dean returns, he's downed three cups of crappy motel coffee and is sketching several versions of the same tree. It was a bit obsessive in the way he was drawing, with quick deliberate lines.

Gabe had once told Sam he could be a good artist if he applied himself. But this drawing, using his skills, to a turn for the dark rather quickly. He remembered one of his psych patient drawing like this on the walls of her hospital room once, though it was, admittedly, in her own blood and she was nutty as a squirrel on PCP.

That still didn't say a lot of good things about Sam's mental state, though.

Dean seems to sense the manic energy coming from his little brother, and sits at the table with breakfast and Sam's laptop. He seemed to be searching for a case. Whether that was to distract Sam from whatever got him into a funk or to distract himself was up for debate, but two birds with one stone and all that.

"All right." The elder brother said after a few minutes of browsing. Gabe noticed the forced casual attitude Dean gave off, but it was clear Sam hadn't. "I've been cruisin' some websites. I think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali –- its crew vanished." Sam didn't react in anyway. Dean moved on. "And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas. Hey." Dean's sudden tone change finally got Sam to look up from his evil looking sketches. "Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?"

" No. I'm listening. Keep going." Sam replies with a distracted sort of wave.

" And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times." Dean waves his hand at an oblivious Sam. Gabe would have found it funny under normal circumstances. "Any of these things blowin' up your skirt, pal?"

Sam, though, wasn't paying attention. "Wait. I've seen this."

"Seen what?" Dean was ignored, but Gabe felt it was a valid questions. Sam didn't answer, instead getting up from the bed and searching through his duffel bag. "What are you doing?" Dean tried again, but Sam was holding a photo up in front of the tree drawing, comparing the two. Gabe decided about the same time that Sam did, though, that he'd seen the house before. I was the house with the woman and the little girl.

"Dean, I know where we have to go next." Sam sounds stunned and out of breath.

Dean, obviously indulging his brother's weirdness just responds, "Where?"

"Back home –- back to Kansas."

Dean let out a slightly stunned laugh. "Okay, random. Where'd that come from?"

"All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?"

"Yeah." Dean seemed visibly unsure of where this was going. Sam, in his strange fervor, either didn't notice or decided not to mention it.

"And it didn't burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?"

"I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger."

"Why would you think that?" It was sweet how Dean didn't immediately disregard his brother's statement, crazy as it sounded.

Sam seemed to lose a lot of his surety at that. "Uh…it's just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?" He began walking away but Dean was following.

"Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?"

"Yeah." Sam began packing quickly, not really meeting his brother's eyes.

"Come on, man, that's weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that."

"I can't really explain it is all."

"Well, tough. I'm not goin' anywhere until you do." Sam heaved this big sigh that let both Gabe and Dean know what kind of conversation this was going to be. Dean stood in front of his brother, waiting expectantly.

"I have these nightmares." Dean nodded in agreement.

"I've noticed." Well, I certainly haven't, Gabe wanted to shout.

"And sometimes….they come true." Dean blinked.

"…Come again?"

"Look, Dean….I dreamt about Gabe's death –- for days before it happened. Weeks." Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sam saw him die? But he wasn't at the factory. How could he have…?

And then Gabe was out, lurching forward to puke all over the floor of the white room. The room spun sickeningly as he collapsed to the floor, wrought with emotional turmoil and the pain of being wrenched out of the vision.


	6. Chapter 6: A Conversation

Sorry this chapter's a little late. Me and my roommates were watching Game of Thrones during a game of Monopoly. Somebody threw a shoe at one point (idk if it was at the TV or a person, and I don't think I want to know) and it hit the WiFi modem.

Anyway, this is a bit of a departure from Gabe's perspective. Tell me opinions, criticisms, etc. and if I should do more chapters in his POV.

Thanks my lovelies!

LL

* * *

Dean had begun seeing it a while ago. Maybe it was during that case with the insects? Or maybe it was during the shapeshifter case?

Either way, he's been seeing it for a while, just out of the corner of his eye. He'd turn to focus on it, but it would be gone. He wanted to say it looked like a flash of light, but it was too controlled, too contained in one area.

It had occurred to him that this was a possible sign of a brain tumor, but until it actually presented a problem, he'd prefer to believe it supernatural in origin.

It didn't help that whenever he saw that light in the corner of his eyes it was accompanied by the feeling that he was being watched.

If it truly was something supernatural, he didn't have any clue what it's motivations were. It just watched, no interference for either side, an impartial judge.

If it had interfered at some point, Dean would have told Sam. But as it stood, there was simply no need. And Sam was on a strange kick recently.

Missouri Mosely had pulled his little brother aside before they left and told him about something protecting him. Sam seemed to think it an angel or something.

Dean didn't buy into that religious crap.

Maybe Missouri had sensed this flash of light that plague Dean's peripheral vision, maybe it was protecting Sam, maybe it was even a force for good, but Dean didn't for one minute believe it was an angel.

He didn't once stop his brother, though, when he started spending an hour or so on Sundays in a church. It was usually relevant to the case or, at least, in between cases. So Dean let Sam have his coping methods.

He knew his brother was dealing with a lot of shit, not just his boyfriends death. And apparently now he was having visions like some kind of discount Miss Cleo. But not only that, they were both worried for their dad and his whereabouts. Mix all of these together and you have a grab bag of stress to choose from at any moment.

And Sam definitely seemed to like stressing himself out.

But that was getting away from the matter.

The asylum that they had just finished investigating had brought up quite a few questions, and even more stress, though not entirely for Sam, this time, even if it was from the floppy haired giant.

His brother had vented his angriest feelings on him, whether or not he'd ever admit it. Dean was pretty certain Sam would never be angry enough at him to kill him if he were under his own control, but he might leave. And Dean probably wouldn't stop him.

But something besides that had been bothering him. When Dean figured out what the crazy Doc did to Sam, they'd dissolved into a fierce fight. Punches and kicks were thrown, and Sam had shot him with his salt filled gun.

Dean rubbed the spot where the salt rounds had bruised his chest.

But then, Sam had gotten ahold of Dean's gun, unloaded, thankfully. Dean had thought he'd punch Sam out while he puzzled over the lack of bullets, but it wasn't to be.

Sam had pulled a spare clip out of his jacket pocket, and Dean wanted to curse the high heavens that he'd left one lying around. He was convinced he was going to die because of his cleanliness, or lack thereof, in motel rooms.

Surprisingly enough, he was still alive.

No, Sam wasn't able to overcome the doctor's control with the power of his love for his brother. This wasn't a Disney movie. Neither was the doc moved by their brotherly affection.

Instead, as the trigger was pulled, a gust of wind filled the room with a freezing gale. Sam was knocked back with the gun flying through the air, but the bullet shot in a straight line toward Dean's prone form. He was quite sure it would have hit his heart, or at the very least his lung, but it stopped.

A bright figure appeared in the path of the bullet, fingers pinched around the metal projectile.

Dean stared up at the figure, who was shifting from a blinding indistinguishable light to a nearly translucent but still brightly lit human shape and then back again. He couldn't help but feel like he knew the figure, though he couldn't make out any features.

He would have thought it was one of the many ghosts, were it not for the presence of the light, the one he'd possibly been hallucinating for the past few months.

The figure raised an arm towards Sam, who was attempting to stand on the other side of the room, and then Sam was collapsing backwards like a puppet with cut strings. With that same hand, the figure gestured towards Dean, as if to say 'scooch over.'

Dean had shifted over, and not a moment too soon. The bullet that had sat in the air for several seconds, had flown at full speed to where Dean once sat and buried itself in the concrete.

He had looked back at the specter to see that it's light had diminished to almost nonexistent and was flickering in and out of view. It gave him a split-second opportunity to see the being's face.

It was Sam's dead paramour.

The ghost spared a glance at the horrified Dean. The older Winchester couldn't help but notice how exhausted he looked.

The he was gone. Nothing left to mark his presence other than Sam's unconscious form and the bullet hole in the floor.

Dean had burned the Doc's corpse with little fanfare and dragged Sam and the two teens out of there as quickly as possible. He hadn't had the privacy or time to tell Sam about what his possessed and unconscious self had missed.

He honestly didn't even know if he should even tell him, seeing as he was already emotionally disturbed enough. He also didn't know if he was even within his rights to keep it from his little brother.

How did you tell your emotionally fragile little brother that the man he'd loved and watched die, had come back as a ghost who most definitely had the potential to go dark side and become vengeful?

He was dealing with a double edged sword here. Either he tell his brother and deal with emotional collapse and depression or desperation that was sure to follow, or he keep it from his brother, knowing he'd eventually find out and hate him for keeping it a secret. Dean wasn't entirely sure which option was worse.

There was the very slim chance that ghost Gabe would figure out he was becoming a vengeful spirit and move on without Sam ever finding out. There was also the chance that Dean found whatever item (if it even was an item) that was anchoring him to the world, for the purpose of salting and burning, and Sam also not finding out.

Dean was well aware that both scenarios were rather far fetched and pretty much guaranteed for failure.

And yet…

Sat in a motel room in Wisconsin, he spotted the bright light out the corner of his eyes once more, dimmer than unusual, but brighter than the last time Dean had seen it. Or rather, him.

He released a heavy sigh.

"Gabe, I know you're there." His voice was steady, skillfully hiding his turmoil from the spirit.

The light flickered an shifted to another part of the room.

"Sam doesn't know, if that's what you're wondering. And I don't intend to tell him." There was no shaking of furniture, but the light dimmed slightly. "You're not angry?" His confusion was readily evident. The light brightened once more.

"This is like having a conversation with a lamp." He muttered quietly. The light bobbed up and down for a few moments. "Are you laughing at me?" The light brightened a little. "Great." He grumbled.

Straightening up, he spoke. "I guess I can only ask you yes or no questions, huh? Well, you know you're dead, right?" The light flashed in response. "Good. I suppose that's something. I hope you know this is not gonna be a thing, me talking to the air like I'm nuts. Awesome, then I'm gonna lay down some ground rules. First up, no possessing people. That's not okay. Stopping bullets and stuff from killing us, that's okay, I guess, but don't go flinging lamps across the room when you're pissed. If you figure out how to move on, do it quickly. I know you love him and all, but I don't want Sam to deal with a vengeful spirit that you could've prevented. And don't let Sam know you're a ghost. I know he's got this psychic thing going for him now and you might not have a choice, but no huge show of ghost power, alright? You get all that?"

The light flashed at him again and then disappeared from view.

"Well, alright." Dean sank back into the bed with Sam's laptop and began searching for a new case.


	7. Update

I apologies for the lateness of this, but I need to make an emergency trip. Long story short, someone in my family got very sick, very fast. In this intervening period, I decided to take a break from this story to begin rewrites. I will post a new chapter detailing the rewrites when I am ready, but I do not have any date specifically lined out yet.

Thank you all for reading, I hope to get back to you as soon as possible. Stay safe.

LookLuster


	8. Announcement

So the new story is finally up. It's under the sabriel series on AO3 (though it's listed as part 7 for some reason) if you prefer that site. It's titled 'Derailment.' Don't know if that title will change, but i like it for now.

Be advised: This is not an edit, I took the same premise and rewrote almost everything. Some of the elements may look the same, but the story is vastly different.

And thank you to everyone who sent me compliments and well wishes! You guys are the best.

P.S. Should I delete this version of the story? I'm not going to update it (at least I have no plans to) but i don't know. I guess, let me know if you think i should keep it up.


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